


Kilt Alternative

by Lenny9987



Series: Lenny's Imagine Claire and Jamie Prompts [10]
Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: F/M, Outlander Episode 02x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:02:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6751357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenny9987/pseuds/Lenny9987
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since there's been so much (heated) discussion the last week about Jamie's attire in a certain scene and the connotations related to that article of clothing, I've written up an alternate version of that scene for anyone interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kilt Alternative

Claire was only vaguely aware of movement in the room, signaling that Jamie had come home—a rather late night for a day that was supposed to have been spent at the warehouse though he might have been invited for another game of chess with Duvernay. The mattress sank suddenly under Jamie’s weight but not where she would have expected and then she was struck with the scent of him just before he kissed her.

“Good evening my beautiful wife,” he whispered warmly. “How has your day been?” His weight was gone again and she pushed herself up towards consciousness as she heard him bustling about in the dim light of the room, readying himself for bed.

She rolled in his direction, stretching. “Not bad. You sound as though yours was good,” she commented, blinking to make out his shape as he hunched over to work at the buckle of his belt. She heard it hit the floor, muffled slightly by the fabric it landed upon.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Jamie declared, stooping to pull off his boots and stockings, dropping them onto the floor as well.

“Really? Are you going to tell me about it or do I have to wait?” she teased, readjusting her position so that the weight of the baby didn’t sit so heavily on her liver.

“You won’t have to wait long tonight, Sassenach,” Jamie crooned, climbing atop the bed and straddling her. She smiled as he bent to kiss her. It had been quite some time since he’d done anything of the sort—warmth and yearning spread through her belly and legs, which ached to open them for him but were unable to because of his weight resting upon them, pinning her in place. As he straightened up to get his shirt off, she followed him, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

The hem of linen his shirt slid up his thighs and she ran her hands up his muscular legs after it, freezing at the dark marks that stood out against his pale skin even in the low light.

“What the hell is that?” she asked, though she already had a pretty good idea. There was one on his other leg as well. “Are those… bite marks?”

Jamie froze as well, dropping his hold on the fabric of his shirt and letting it settle into place, cover the marks once again. “Aye well… she did get a wee bit carried away.”

“She?” Claire spat, scooting away from him, pulling her legs free and adjusting her shift. “You had better not be talking about that whore from the brothel,” she said with a note of warning ringing clear in her voice.

Jamie shook his head, “No, no. I dinna ken which whore ye’re referring to but I dinna think it’s the same one.” He seemed satisfied with his answer.

“But it was _one_ of the whores from _Maison Elise_?” She narrowed her eyes at him showing she was less than satisfied. “How exactly is it that she was able to get close enough to your bare legs for her to _bite_ your _thighs_?”

Jamie shifted on the bed so he could sit properly, pulling the end of his shirt down to cover the marks.

“I’ll admit,” he said slowly, “it wasna the best idea to go with Charles while I was wearing my kilt—”

“You wore your _kilt_ to a _brothel_?” Claire cried in disbelief.

“Aye well I wasna expecting to go to the brothel, now was I,” Jamie said in his defense. “Wasna planning to see Charles at all today and I’d no plans with Duvernay or anything else to do with this business… so I thought it would be a good day to wear it again. Felt more like myself in that than I do in breeks and a silk waistcoat. But Charles found me on my way back and began whining on about how his mistress hasna been herself lately and he dragged me off to the brothel.”

“Perhaps his mistress discovered he likes to frequent brothels,” Claire snapped. “None of this explains how you come to have—”

“One of the whores proposed a… a _soixante-neuf_ —”

“A sixty-nine!” Jamie rose from the bed and took a step away as Claire began pushing the bedclothes back and moving toward him.

“So ye do ken what that means,” he muttered raising his hands to catch her should she come at him.

“I know damn well what that means,” Claire exclaimed, rising from the bed and stomping across the floor. “And you just let that whore—”

“I didna _let_ her do anything—she was rather persistent, at least about the six if no the nine,” he scramble to explain.

“You didn’t _let_ her? Then you encouraged her?!”

“What? No! Nothing happened but I was… tempted… for the first time since—” He stopped talking when he watched Claire’s face fall.

“You were _tempted_ … by a _whore_ … You haven’t been able to touch me in months but a _whore_ you find tempting.” Claire’s voice had gone quiet with her disbelief and hurt. “So… it’s me then. _I’m_ the one you don’t—”

“No, _mo nighean donn_ ,” Jamie said forcefully, crossing to her and wrapping her in his arms. She remained stiff, unwilling to be comforted by him. “It isna you—it never has been you. It was… it was that bastard Randall. Ye ken how I’ve struggled since… since Wentworth…”

Claire broke from his embrace, shaking off his arms and crossing her own over her chest, resting them on the swell of her belly.

“How _you’ve_ struggled. You’re not the only one who’s struggled with what happened, Jamie,” she reminded him none-too-gently as she moved to stand beside the bed again. “I’ve struggled to be patient with you, to give you the time and the space to… to deal with what happened… I've struggled to accept that my own husband can’t bring himself to touch me or talk about the child we’re having. Christ, Jamie,” she turned to face him once more, “we hadn’t even talked about baby names until Duvernay brought it up. I feel like… like I’m doing this on my own.”

“Ye’re no doing it on yer own,” Jamie insisted. “And I ken this hasna been easy on ye… but ye dinna know what it’s been like for me… to no feel like myself these last months—but if I can kill that bastard with my own two hands…” The look in his eye as his focus went to some space past her shoulder where he clearly saw the specter of Jack Randall looming. He didn’t cower or start but glared at whatever ghost he saw, defiant and determined. “Just knowing has put me back on the path to finding myself again— _you’ve_ put me back on that path, Sassenach. It’s why can finally put my kilt on without feeling like… and why even the whore being able to… But I dinna expect ye to understand what tha’s like,” he muttered looking down, at a loss for words.

“Then tell me,” Claire plead in a calmer voice. “How am I ever going to come close to understanding if you don’t _talk to me_ —if you don’t _make_ me understand?”

Jamie’s face hardened but not with anger; he was steeling himself before plunging back into the memories, to reopen the wounds that his wife might be able to help them heal cleanly. “There was this… place inside me—a place I think everyone has… that they keep to themselves,” he said slowly, trying to hold her eye as he spoke. “A fortress where the most private part of ye lives… maybe it’s yer soul—the bit that makes you yerself and not anyone else…” He couldn’t keep talking without moving. He dropped her gaze and started slowly pacing about the room. “But after Wentworth,” he turned to look at her again, “it was… my fortress had been… blown apart. The thing that once lived there was suddenly exposed, out in the open without shelter, without… That’s where I’ve been ever since, Claire.” He walked toward again, his steps punctuating the words. “Naked. Alone. Trying to hide under a… a blade of grass.”

He ended standing in front of her, his breathing ragged and the old tension radiating from him as he looked at her briefly, before looking away again. She didn’t know what to say. The earlier anger and frustration hadn’t left her system yet so she remained silent rather than risk saying the wrong thing—she didn’t know what the right thing to say might be.

After a moment, Jamie dropped his gaze and stepped back, bending to retrieve his kilt. “I think it best I sleep somewhere else tonight,” he remarked as he carried his kilt out of the room with him, setting his belt onto a chair so no one would step on it.

Claire let him go, giving him space once more and resting her hands on her stomach. The child inside fluttered at her touch as though urging her to go after him.


End file.
